


Theory, Practice

by Temaris



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Humour, M/M, SGA Secret Santa 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney isn't a genius in all things, but practice makes perfect, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theory, Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aesc in 2006 SGA Secret Santa.

John shifted uncomfortably and said, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"  


  
"No, no I'm not sure, and I'm so glad you took a moment to remind us both --wait--" Rodney stopped trying to attach John's ankle to the bed, and said accusingly, "Was this all the rope you could find?"  


  
"It was that or the climbing ropes, and I have to sign the karabiners out."  


  
"Karabiners could have been useful," Rodney said. "Here, don't move."  


  
"I thought the *ropes* were the point of th-- where do you think you're going?"  


  
"I'll be back in a minute."  


  
"McKay, if you walk out of that door, so help me I will cut you off at the *dick*."  


  
Rodney paused, and flashed a bright grin at him, "Two minutes tops."  


  
The ropes -- or, properly, ex-sleeves of a dead science jacket, blue and surprisingly tough -- were slippery, and didn't stretch. That didn't stop him twisting his wrists rhythmically. He didn't exactly mean to count the seconds, and he wasn't bothered by being tied to the bed, on his own. He paused for a moment. Yeah. So not worried that his erection had vanished.  


  
"Here!" Rodney hurried in, laptop in hand. He sat next to John on the bed, and said, "I don't know why I didn't bring it in the first place."  


  
"Because we were going to have *sex* not go head to head on Tetris?" John said sharply, and Rodney looked at him, surprised.  


  
"Here:" He turned the laptop screen to John, and grinned at him.  


  
John stared, speechless for a good five seconds. Clearly this was all the response Rodney required, because he scooted down to the bottom of the bed, propped the laptop between John's knees, and picked up where he'd left off.  


  
"Loop, and turn, and oh, there, that was the problem," he muttered, eyes flickering between the screen and John's ankle. "I should have made a half twist there instead of pulling it through, and --" The very tip of his tongue protruded pinkly, and John's mouth went dry. "Hmm. And if I -- " his hands moved slowly, steadily, and then, Rodney was sitting back, "There! Try that!"  


  
Obediently, John kicked, tugged, and then smiled slowly up at Rodney. "Cool."  


  
Rodney grinned back at him. "I knew I had notes on tying knots somewhere."  


  
John stared at him. "Why?"  


  
"What why?"  


  
"Why would you have notes on knots, and -- tell me you didn't ask one of the Marines for tips on tying knots?" John asked with a sudden, horrid image of McKay snapping his fingers at the Marines and demanding instruction manuals for bondage -- don't be ridiculous, at least *one* of you has to have something worthwhile! -- and worse, being handed it with a smirk.  


  
The silence went on too long, and McKay looked kind of shifty. He could feel a slow burn wash up from jaw to ears and he closed his eyes, dropping his head heavily on the pillow. "Tell me you didn't. Please?"  


  
"Would you like the truth or the comforting lie?"  


  
John groaned. If he could, he'd have buried his face -- under an arm, in the pillow, a couple of kilometers under water -- but it wasn't an option. The strips of fabric around his wrists held irritatingly well, despite McKay's lousy knots.  


  
"I'll take a comforting lie for 100," he said, and Rodney smiled brightly at him.  


  
"I asked Cadman for any Girl Scout materials she had on rope craft and knot tying."  


  
For a single, appalled moment, Sheppard believed him. He struggled to get his elbows under him, and lifted up, his upper back screaming at him, glaring at McKay, whose mouth twitched.  


  
"You *shit*. You are *never* going to want to let me out of these ropes, because when you do --" he paused, trying to cram the dozen or so things that sprang immediately to mind into the silence.  


  
"Yes, Colonel?" Rodney asked, and slid a hand slowly up his leg, against the grain of his hair, and he moaned, tried to stop the sound. Rodney smiled, softer, more open. "What are you going to do to me? Tell me..." and he made it into a promise of heat and pleasure and want.  


  
His hands rested high on John's thighs and John shifted, crooking his free leg up. "Rodney, come on," he said -- it was meant to sound like an order, but the whine that even he could hear coming through kind of undercut his intention. Mostly, he sounded breathless and eager.  


  
Rodney ran his hand back down John's free leg, warm and steady, smoothing downwards, then back up, the odd sensation of being rubbed the wrong way the more enjoyable for not being able to stop it. "Rodney," he said and closed his eyes.  


  
"Good?"  


  
"Mmm."  


  
"Cool. Give me a second and it gets better." Rodney's hands were on his free foot and he groaned, two turns of the rope around his ankle, and then the odd tugging and pulling that meant Rodney was fixing the last rope in place. "Here."  


  
"Come here," he said roughly, and Rodney looked up his body at him, as though he was Christmas dinner, and the end of entropy, and the theory of everything all concatenated into a single living form laid out for his express and sole pleasure. "Rodney--"  


  
"So, fucking, hot," Rodney said, crawling up his body and bestowing little biting nips, on his inner thigh, his hips, the soft skin of his belly, pausing to listen to John's heartbeat, eyes closed until he rolled a little and bit gently down on one of John's nipples. "God, John--" He sprawled over John's body, face down and breathed in heavily.  


  
"Are you sniffing me?" John asked dubiously.  


  
"No, I always get a lot of catarrh when I'm turned on."  


  
"Rodney!"  


  
Rodney lifted his head and glared straight into John's eyes, "*Yes*, I was sniffing you. You smell --" he paused and his eyes slowly glazed over.  


  
"I smell--?"  


  
"Good," he said simply. "Really, really, really ... mmm..." He rubbed his cheek against John's chest, and the stubble scratching over his nipple jolted right through John, who moaned and pushed up.  


  
"Rodney, please--" he said.  


  
Rodney sighed, "So impatient," and John snorted at the thought of *Rodney* accusing anyone of lack of patience, but then Rodney moved against him in a long, slow ripple of skin on skin, and John shivered. Little spots of cool attracted his attention and he looked to find Rodney licking him, little laps that he seemed to savor, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips.  


  
"McKay?"  


  
"Hmm?" He shifted again, luxuriating in his freedom of movement, and abruptly John resented it intensely, that Rodney could do as he pleased, and he was trapped. For a second it felt unbearable, unfixable, unfair, even though he'd chosen to be bound. He wanted this. Whatever 'this' he picked. He closed his eyes, laughing softly.  


  
"I hope you're ticklish," Rodney said, unexpectedly close to his right ear, "otherwise, I'm clearly doing something wrong if you're lying there giggling to yourself when I've got you at my mercy for untold sexual depravities." He leered at John cheerfully.  


  
"Going to tell me to share the joke with the class?" John jibed, but it lacked bite.  


  
"Only if I'm going to think it's funny." He pulled back a little.  


  
John shook his head slowly, then hesitated at the odd look on Rodney's face. "I'm being stupid," he said, "distract me."  


  
Rodney's eyes darkened, "I can do that," he promised, and bit gently at the side of John's throat.  


  
It burned, and he instinctively tried to pull his arms down, curling in on himself -- and failing to do more than bunch the muscles on his chest and upper arms. Rodney made an approving noise, and ran his tongue along the underside of John's pectorals, then dragged his teeth slowly back over the same line, and John cried out at the rough scraping. Rodney shook his head slowly, worrying at the little patch of skin, not quite biting but not just rubbing, not just touching, something closer, harder, better.  


  
He writhed against Rodney, breathing hard. Rodney's hands were moving, moving, running up his flanks, pressing inwards as though to bring more of John up into his grasp and he rolled with it until his shoulders pressed hard into the mattress, his back barely touching the bed. Rodney's weight was tethering him in place, heavy, solid, warm and infinitely comforting. Real, pinning him down and keeping him home.  


  
He pulled his knees up as far as he could, trying to surround Rodney. There wasn't much spare length in the ropes, and he moaned in protest when he reached the end of it. His moan was smothered by Rodney's mouth a moment later, wet and fierce on his. It felt like he was swallowing him in, or perhaps Rodney was swallowing John -- or maybe it was both, endlessly pursuing and pursued. Winning and won.  


  
Rodney groaned and buried his face in John's neck, his hips working against John's; John's dick was trapped between them, and he shoved upwards, loving the heat and weight. His eyes slid shut, and he didn't know how much time passed with them wound around each other, Rodney taking every advantage of the freedom to touch, John simply soaking up Rodney's total absorption in him, the press of Rodney's body on his, the way he couldn't do anything but let go, feel, let himself be pleasured ...  


  
It took him a while to notice that Rodney wasn't moving any more, and he whined, "Rodney --"  


  
"Um."  


  
"Come on, fuck me, get me off, anything --"  


  
Rodney was silent, and John opened his eyes, wincing against the light in the room. "What?"  


  
"I think I might have miscalculated with the ropes."  


  
"*What*?"  


  
"Can you turn over?"  


  
John shoved up, "Not with you on top of me, you idiot."  


  
"Hmm."  


  
John twisted his upper body over easily enough, but his hands were bound together above his head. His legs were a different matter. Now he was on his belly, his legs were effectively crossed.  


  
"I thought you were a genius," he grumbled, wriggling to try to shift his legs apart. "Can't even get a piece of rope right. How long's a piece of string?"  


  
Rodney snorted unexpectedly, and John looked over his shoulder sourly, but couldn't resist the bright light in Rodney's eyes, and ducked his head in a smile. "So, untie me."  


  
"I thought you wanted to be tied up while I fucked you," Rodney protested. One hand settled between John's shoulder blades and he pushed up into the pressure, picking out the palm, each spread finger, the splay of Rodney's thumb, warmth contrasted to the cool air on his damp back.  


  
John groaned. "Which do you want more: to get your dick in my ass, or tie me up." And Rodney, damn him, actually hesitated.  


  
"Both are tempting, Colonel," he said eventually, "I don't know."  


  
"Rodney --"  


  
"Oh, like *that's* an incentive to untie you!"  


  
"Rodney, untie me, and I will be very, very nice to you," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll even let you tie me up again." Maybe. One day. When the thought didn't make him think of Girl Scouts.  


  
"Hmm. It's a good offer, Colonel, but I'm not sure." Rodney's weight shifted on the bed, dipping it alarmingly, and then Rodney was straddling his hips, it felt like he was crouched over John's back, and -- yes, that was Rodney's dick and Rodney shoved between John's thighs and groaned into John's ear. "God, that's tight."  


  
"Lube would be better," John suggested with a gasp as Rodney's dick shoved against his balls, pulled back, dragging along his ass, over his anus and almost out of touch, and then drove inwards, into the tight space between his crossed legs. "Rodney!"  


  
He could feel Rodney's chest moving, guessed that he was too turned on to pay attention, and turned his head, trying to see, but couldn't get an angle.  


  
"God, yes, yes, John --" A fisted hand shoved uncomfortably between them, Rodney's knuckles sharp against John's back, shoving a handful of lube between them, cold and wet, and god, slick and the rough drag at his ass was transformed into a heavy glide, slippery and intimate, feeling like it might push into him at any moment, like his body would just absorb Rodney's, take him in, slick spreading between his thighs, up his crease to his ass --  


  
\-- and skidding away. Rodney made an odd sort of noise, and collapsed on John's back, shaking with laughter.  


  
"McKay," John growled, "I swear to *god*--"  


  
"Sorry, sorry. Uh, wait, wait a minute." And Rodney scrambled off of him, and was scrabbling at the ropes he'd expended so much effort to tie correctly. "Just a minute. I'll have it any second, I promise." John bit his lip, and twisted to see Rodney. It wasn't a dignified sort of look, bent over the foot of the bed, eyebrows drawn together with concentration. "Dammit," Rodney muttered and wiped his hands on John's calves.  


  
"Hey!"  


  
"Oh, like we weren't going to have to take showers after anyway."  


  
"I don't care, unless you're planning on fucking my shins, quit it. Use the blanket like any sane person."  


  
"Whatever gave you--" he jerked at the rope around John's left ankle impatiently, "the idea that I was sane?"  


  
"I can't *imagine*. Rodney. Is there a problem?"  


  
"Um. No?"  


  
"Try that again, with sincerity."  


  
"It'll be fine. I just need something sharp-- scissors, razor, oh, your knife!" And Rodney was pawing through John's kit, looking for his belt and the attached utility knife. "Aha!"  


  
"Come anywhere near me with that," John said, really quite calmly for someone who had been waiting to come for the best part of thirty minutes, and whose bed partner had apparently lost his mind, "and--"  


  
"And what, Colonel? It's not exactly like you can do much about it." Rodney said absently. John stiffened. Shivered. "Huh."  


  
"What do you mean, 'huh'?" John asked, hoping Rodney hadn't noticed. Rodney missed so many things, just this once --  


  
"You like that idea, don't you?"  


  
"What? Getting untied and getting off? *Yes*."  


  
"No, no, no. Not that." John could hear Rodney unsheathe the knife, which *had* to be deliberate, no way did it normally make that much noise, or take so long. Something cold on his back, and he startled, arms jerked at the ropes at the feel of the flat of the blade on his spine. "Hmm."  


  
"Rodney--"  


  
"No, no, this is interesting." Rodney dragged the flat of the blade up John's back, and John's breath shook. "Oh, now, that's nice."  


  
Nice wasn't the word John was thinking. Out-of-his-mind hot; dangerous, stupid, safe, more --  


  
"Don't move," Rodney said, quietly, and John tensed. The flat of the blade lifted until just the edge -- the live edge, the edge he'd put on it himself, patiently, stroke by stroke wiping away the dullness of use -- was resting on his skin. "Shh, don't move at all," he whispered, and John didn't; couldn't. He could barely even breathe.  


  
"Ohhh," Rodney breathed out, and the blade's touch vanished, a clatter on the floor, and then Rodney was kissing a line up his spine, from where the sharp edge had scraped against him all the way to the nape of his neck, until Rodney was full length on his back. "God, you're so--" He kept kissing, licking along the line of John's neck, biting carefully at the lobe of John's ear, and then around until their mouths met awkwardly. "John, John, John--"  


  
John just hummed happily, tilting his head to let him in, and they kissed sloppily until John tried to turn into the kiss, and mumbled, "Ow," as the ropes pulled painfully.  


  
"You know what," Rodney said, pulling back barely any distance. "Fuck this." He leaned off the bed for a second, one knee jammed painfully into the small of John's back, and then he was at the foot of the bed, and two hard jerks freed John's ankles, rope trailing loosely. He crawled back up, the knife in one hand, precariously close to John's side. "Turn over and spread your legs."  


  
John shuddered at the blunt orders, and obeyed. Rodney knelt between his legs, almost lined up and ready.  


  
John looked pointedly at the knife, and Rodney grinned wickedly. "We'll try that again some time," he promised, and dropped it over the side of the bed carelessly, and leaned in to nuzzle at John's mouth.  


  
"Pick that up and put it somewhere before someone steps on it," he said, "And quit *teasing*!" he added, and managed to get a proper kiss in, and Rodney lost track almost immediately. John shifted his hips, wriggling and pushing until Rodney was almost in place. Between kisses he said, "Rodney--"  


  
Rodney leaned back, pupils blown, lips red and slick, breathing hard, and not looking in control in the slightest. John felt kind of proud of that. "John?"  


  
"Fuck me." He shoved up, and he could see Rodney gulp, and then get with the program, which involved a certain amount of struggling and grunting not of the oh-god-so-good variety.  


  
"It would be easier if you--"  


  
"Ha!"  


  
John couldn't help it, he started laughing. "'Ha'?" he choked out; Rodney was moving slowly, and smirking at him.  


  
"You'd prefer 'yeehaw'?" he asked dryly, and John laughed so hard he thought he'd choke himself.  


  
"Well --" Rodney picked up the pace, "If we're not having fun, what's the point?"  


  
John took a few seconds to catch his breath again, and said, "If you haven't worked that out --"  


  
Rodney shoved in hard and squeezed one hand around John's dick, which seemed to be the last thing he needed to tip him off the edge, and he came, little gusts of laughter tumbling through his orgasm. When he opened his eyes, Rodney was waiting for him. His hands had been untied -- or possibly cut free, he had no idea -- and he tangled himself around Rodney contentedly.  


  
"Well?"  


  
"Yeah. Good," he said, but it appeared to satisfy Rodney's question. "But next time, I get to pick the kink."  


  
Rodney snorted, "Like you didn't enjoy it."  


  
"Sure, I just like my limbs in one piece."  


  
"Pervert."  


  
"Like you don't enjoy it," John said and choked on a yawn. "Mmm."  


  
"I don't believe you! Who did all the damn work here? If anyone's going to sleep it ought to be me."  


  
"No one's stopping you, Rodney," John observed around a jaw cracking yawn.  


  
"Except this person who keeps on insisting on talking when I'm trying to sleep here."  


  
John said nothing, and instead pressed his smile into the warm dip just between Rodney's neck and collarbone. Absurdity and happiness and sex all mixed up and catalyzed into something else, burning hot and splendid at the core.  


  
He was a long way down the slow road to sleep when Rodney slowly, quietly said, "Oh. Um. Just in case you meant that crack? I worked it out a while back. The, um, you know. Point." And he tightened his arms around John, who slipped the rest of the way into warm, comfortable darkness, his head on Rodney's shoulder.

* * *

Pages last updated 00:30 23/12/2007.

* * *

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